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Freya couldn't feel her legs or arms as she regained consciousness. Her head was heavy and the room was blurry. It was a while before the room finally stopped spinning around.

"Wh- what?" she stuttered, realising that she had been tied down to some sort of table. She desperately tried to move her wrists but the leather around them was tied firmly. Attempting to raise her legs, she kicked at the table but it was of no use.

"She's awake," she heard someone say.

"Where am I?"Freya's feeble voice echoed in the room.

There was no reply as Freya tried to look around the dimly lit room. Red candles sat together by one corner, each one of them lit up and the flames, unwavering.

"Breathe child," the voice was different this time.

"Where am I?" Freya repeated, fearful of what was going on.

"You are safe with us," the voice said as Freya stared at the ceiling, trying to recognise the voice.

Madamé Cordelia stepped out of the shadows, her head draped by a black hood. She looked ominious in the way she was dressed. The room suddenly felt more grim and Freya's heartbeat began to race.

"What are you going to do to me?" Freya asked, her eyes wide with fear.

"We aren't going to do anything, you are," she replied.

"What?" she asked, bewildered.

"I need you to relax and look at the mirror by your side," she said, inching closer.

Freya stuttered, no longer sure if it was because of the cold or if she was going to faint again. Turning her head the other way, she spotted a mirror on the wall beside her. It looked like an ordinary mirror at first, the delicate design on the frame looked old but was still elegant nevertheless.

Freya still felt drowsy, the effect of the tea still in her system as she stared at the mirror.

"Let me go," Freya begged, weakly. "Please."

"If that is what you wish, you must allow yourself to open up. Breathe and calm your mind, it will all be over soon and then...

You'll be free."

Freya blinked, a tear falling from her eye and rolling on to the cold stone table. She stared at the mirror, her breathing turning more shallow by the minute.

She saw something flicker in the mirror, something wavering across her reflection. The image on the mirror began to change and she could feel other people begin to surround her on the table.

The witches were reciting something like a verse in a foreign language. The words soon became difficult to differentiate between, amalgamating into a sort of chanting. They held hands and the atmosphere of the room began to change.

Freya could no longer see her own reflection but instead someone else had appeared. She couldn't tell who it was at first but when the image came into focus and after a while of blankly staring at the face, Freya recognised the familiar face.

She was looking at Mrs. Jones.

Impossible, she thought.

"Heather, my sister," Cordelia said.

Freya's blood ran cold.

Heather looked back at Cordelia and then at Freya. "I knew you would return to resurrect me," she said, her voice slightly muzzled.

Cordelia smiled, warmly and nodded her head eagerly.

However, Heather's face soon filled with sadness.

"It's good seeing you again, Cordelia. But you must let Freya go," she said.

Cordelia frowned. "Why? No, this is the only way I can bring you back."

"Cordelia, this is not right. Sacrificing her for me, it's unjust," Heather said.

Cordelia shook her head, stubbornly. "I need you here with me."

Heather smiled but it was a sad one. "I love you. But I have lived my life, Cordelia. Now it is time for you to live yours."

"You were never meant to die! You were meant to live forever, Heather!"

Heather shook her head, slightly. "I am always with you. Let the girl go and stop the plague that has spread."

Cordelia's eyes began to water. "No! Don't leave!"

She watched as her sister broke the connection and vanished from the mirror, leaving a frail looking Freya staring back at her.

"No!" Cordelia screamed as she looked back at the moon that had moved past its position.

She would not be able to re-establish a connection until the next full moon and it devastated her that Heather did not wish to return.

Freya's heart drummed in her chest with anxiousness when Cordelia put her hands on either side of her head. One of the other witches was about to walk over to Cordelia to console her but they all froze when they heard something crash against the front door.

Cordelia turned around and to her horror, the door had flown off its hinges and landed on the floor. A woman dressed in dark clothing stood in the doorway.

Cordelia looked at the woman's curly hair and pale face.

"How dare you break into my house!" Cordelia yelled with fury, raising her palm in her direction but found herself being flung into the wall before she could do anything.

The woman strode inside and with one motion, sent the witches flying in different directions.

Freya urgently tried to escape but the restraints wouldn't budge. The woman walked towards her and as she tried to cower away, she felt the tightness around her ankles and wrists being loosened.

"Freya," the woman said.

Freya turned her head to the side and despite the dimness of the room, she instantly knew who she was. "Mum?" she said, too shocked to move.

"Quick, get up. We need to go," she said, urgently.

With her help, she got up and steadied herself.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Freya said, touching the side of her own face.

•

Greg watched the stranger light the fire place from his seat. The cabin was small with no kitchen and no bathroom except for a small single bed by the corner and a mattress without a frame. It was odd that there were arrangements for two people as it was hard to believe there was anyone else there staying with him.

"Who are you?" he finally asked, aware that he wasn't completely out of danger yet. He didn't know who this man was or how or even why he had a cabin in the middle of nowhere when it was clear that the smoke was always the thickest in open areas.

Greg was surprised when the man began to speak, breaking the long silence.

"I would never of thought a wolf would be so foolish as to walk outside through the smoke."

"I wasn't out for a stroll," Greg retaliated. "I was left outside on purpose."

"What were you doing then?"

"I was unconscious," he mumbled.

"Unconscious?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I got into a fight," Greg shrugged. "Or rather, I was attacked."

"Where is your pack?"

Greg remained silent but it was enough to give him away.

"A rogue?" he seemed intrigued.

Greg didn't respond.

The man tended to the fire, his back turned to him. "The bite on your neck tells me you weren't always a wolf," he said.

Greg instinctively put his hand on the scar and pulled up the zipper of the hoodie to cover it.

"You're awfully quiet now," he said to himself. "I assume my deductions have been correct."

"Look, I'm thankful that you saved me tonight but I really don't feel like talking."

The man stood up and dusted his hands off, "I understand. You are welcome to stay the night on the mattress if you wish."

"Thanks," Greg said, standing up to place it on the floor.

"I believe you should know my name since you are my guest tonight," the man said.

"That really isn't necessary."

"Ace Montgomery," he said, extending his hand to Greg.

Greg looked at his hand and chose not to shake it. Instead he looked back at the man and nodded, "Greg."

The man's lips twitched.

"Well, Greg. Have a pleasant night's sleep."

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